


to love you is not regretful. it is fulfilling

by novrik



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Domestic, Extended Metaphors, Falling In Love, Hallucinations, Hand Washing, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Mysophobia, M/M, Metaphors, Mild Blood, Mild Language, Minor Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio, Mutual Pining, Past Sakusa Kiyoomi/Ushijima Wakatoshi, Pining, Tenderness, Unrequited Hinata Shouyou/Miya Atsumu, Unrequited Kita Shinsuke/Miya Atsumu, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:00:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24565021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novrik/pseuds/novrik
Summary: alternatively titled—what is love but wanting to spend the rest of my life with you?Atsumu spirals, Sakusa wallows. They're both pathetic. Keep running into the arms of anyone else and not each other. Find what you crave so desperately in the other person.I wonder, Kiyoomi. If I were to tear into your chest cavity, what would I find?Atsumu trails a finger down Sakusa’s body. The spiker feels strangely small, small like he is a mouse about to be eaten. Atsumu grins at him, something inhuman and frightening.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 43
Kudos: 316





	to love you is not regretful. it is fulfilling

**Author's Note:**

> the tags r rly important pls take note. in any case i'll TW again here. vomiting is used a bit but nothing too serious it just says it happens. the hallucinations are not serious either they're simply used as literary devices. i project a lot onto sakusa/atsumu so these are purely my experiences and my experiences alone. i did not want to tag eating disorder bc i don't have one and i feel like i'm overstepping if i did. mentions of blood (a cut) not detailed at all but it's the scene where sakusa goes to atsumu's apartment if u wanna skip.
> 
> anyways, this started as one thing and then it went in this other direction so.... it's not like im _pleased_ but it's alright. ends well so what does it matter. this fic was definitely its own journey since i started at the beginning of may. idk i've noticed some things by the time i've finished. for starters, sakuatsu fans r obsessed with the use of excessive metaphors (especially god related ones, surprisingly i don't use any in this) and second person. i am not an exception to this. have fun discerning what im trying to say.
> 
> ty to sarah for being my number one supporter. i could only finish thanks to u. another thank u to hyun for beta reading for me i was honestly just gonna post and go but u offered.

Sakusa does not like Miya Atsumu. He is too loud and takes up too much space. Every time he opens his mouth, Sakusa has to mentally prepare himself for whatever nonsense Miya has now. He is aggravating, annoying to no end. Effervescent if Sakusa were to choose a slightly more polite word. His overly inflated egotistical personality tastes like someone’s backwash when sharing a water bottle. It lingers on his tongue, sits at the back of his throat. Sakusa cannot wash it out no matter how many honey lemon drinks he downs.

He does not like Miya Atsumu.

“Can I sit here, Omi-Omi? D’ya mind?”

Miya’s shock of blond hair looms over Sakusa. He smiles at him in a way that is reminiscent of a fox; Sakusa feels only irritation at the gleam in Atsumu’s gaze. He narrows his eyes, and the bastard laughs.

“Of course ya do. But I’ll be quiet, promise.” Atsumu’s smile stretches even wider.

Sakusa does not respond, looking away and gazing out the bus window. He can hear Atsumu quietly laughing beside him, the shove of his belongings into the overhead compartment, and the shuffle of movement as Atsumu settles into the aisle seat. Sakusa does not turn to look. He refuses to turn his head to look. He wants to be home. He wants to be home to his apartment where everything is clean, and if it isn’t, he can whip out the lemon scented cleaner and spray until he feels okay again. Sitting next to Miya Atsumu makes Sakusa’s skin crawl with the ever so prickly sensation of _something’s not right_ despite him taking extra precautions. He does not look.

Something is not right. It’s nagging at Sakusa. He glances out of the corner of his eye, and oh, that’s why. Atsumu hasn’t bothered him in the last twenty minutes or so because he’s fallen asleep. He’s leaning against his neck pillow, chest rising and falling in the measured pattern of deep sleep. His face looks relaxed for once without its usual fake smile. (even that was obvious to Sakusa. Miya was not fooling anyone). His lashes are long and brush along the edge of his cheeks. Sakusa could trace the slope of his nose if he wanted to. There is the barest of spaces between his lips. Cute, his brain unhelpfully supplies as he stares at Miya Atsumu. He closes his eyes, the acrid sensation of stomach acid rising in his throat. Nothing is there. He opens his eyes, the nausea settling.

“Kita.”

Sakusa startles ever so slightly at the sound. Atsumu is talking in his sleep.

“Kita, Kita,” he mumbles. “Ya never call me back.”

This doesn’t seem like something Sakusa should be listening to.

“Cap’n, I miss ya.”

Sakusa goes home and washes his hands. He pats the tears into skin because tears help clear it up, and then he thoroughly washes his face with his ten step routine. The idea of eating fills his stomach with terror, but Sakusa knows better than to skip meals. He gives himself half a scoop of rice, three pieces of meat, and a handful of vegetables. Sakusa takes his time in washing the dishes and then wiping down his kitchen table. He washes his hands in his bathroom and resists the urge to look at his toilet.

He files his nails. Writes a bit in his journal. Skips a line from his previous entry, puts down the day’s date, and in deliberate neat marks of black ink, “fuck.” He does not think about people with ugly blond hair in dire need of toner. He does not think about people who smile like a fox baring its teeth. He does not think about people who draw out their words and call him “Omi-Omi.”

He hunches over and hurls into the bowl of his toilet.

//

Atsumu is a mess, but he is an _organized_ mess. He knows where everything is, so please do not touch, do not attempt to touch, and do not even think about touching anything. Growing up was nightmarish; his mother would clean and organize his room, ruining the system Atsumu had in place. Osamu had just laughed as _he_ never had to deal with the dread of his room being reorganized. Atsumu stole his snacks in return despite getting smacked every time. (he won’t admit it, but he misses Osamu).

His room could—can—use some cleaning. Atsumu should probably pick up his boxers off the floor (from attempting to throw them into the hamper). His sheets are a mess, but what’s the point when he’s just gonna sleep in them again? The vanity is probably the cleanest, neatest part of his room (bathroom is considered separately). Nothing like the fear of putting dust on his face to keep all of his makeup products clean. Atsumu even has a minifridge to keep all his skincare products cold.

Atsumu is particular about the way he does things. On the right of his sink are his cleanser, exfoliator, toothpaste, and then toothbrush. Qtip box in the corner. Hair dryer plugged in the electrical outlet opposite the sink and placed under the cabinet. The clothes in his closet are sorted by stuff he hangs (shirts and button downs; short sleeve, long sleeve; pants), stuff he folds (shorts, jeans, sweats, pajamas), and stuff he can throw into containers (boxers, socks).

Atsumu is even particular with the way he falls in love.

What is volleyball, if not his first love? When Atsumu laces his shoes tightly, steps onto the squeaky court, holds the worn ball in his hands, he thinks _I could do this forever._ And he does. The exhilaration of tossing the ball in the air leaves him hungering every time. Atsumu can not get enough. No matter how many times he runs for a set up, digs for the ball, jumps for a serve, his craving will not be satisfied. The high of volleyball rushes through his veins and arteries, heart pumping the adrenaline coursing through his blood, muscles straining with exhaustion, sweat running down his brow while sticking to his skin. Atsumu loves volleyball. It is the practice, the dedication, the pouring of his soul into the sport. His love falters when Osamu says he’s quitting while his spite fuels him to continue in hopes of showing his brother he’ll be fine on his own.

He loved volleyball. He loves volleyball. He will love volleyball. He will love it 'till the end of time. He will love it to the moon and back.

Kita Shinsuke immediately disciplines Atsumu the first time they meet. Atsumu is The Number One Asshole so of course he laughs in the face of the mild mannered upperclassman. He stops laughing soon enough. Is it fear he learns that day? Atsumu prefers to say it was respect. The chill of Kita-san’s piercing eyes will be something he can never forget. He will close his eyes and see the image burned against his eyelids. His senior who looks at him like he is the dirt underneath fingernails, perhaps that’s where his masochistic streak begins. Osamu just ignores him.

Atsumu does not understand why Kita does things the way he does. He doesn’t need to understand though. He just needs to sneak glances at Kita who puts his best effort into practice despite never being put in a game. He just needs to watch from afar as Kita cleans the gym and locker room despite the team having a rotating schedule. There is a clean air around Kita as if there is some sort of deity within him. He walks tall, head held high, striding with purpose. Atsumu is compelled to watch him. He doesn’t understand why. He just knows Kita Shinsuke is a much better person than he could ever be, that the ground Kita walks on is blessed.

Atsumu is egregious in his pining, but he is a sixteen year old boy. Kita is the only person to ever touch him deep in his soul like this. He will close his eyes and dream of Kita. Kita, Kita, Kita. Atsumu marvels at the way “Shinsuke” rolls off his tongue. Osamu rolls his eyes and gripes at him to confess. He does not listen to his twin.

Instead, he lets his feelings fester in the pits of his stomach. Atsumu lets himself go another year of watching Kita out of the corner of his eye. He fools around in hopes of annoying his captain to the point of receiving attention. The way Kita yells out his name is definitely worth. Atsumu dreams of Kita Shinsuke sweetly whispering in his ear. “Mi-ya At-su-mu” leaves him wide awake with shivers running down his back.

He expects this. He knew what would happen but he did it anyway. Kita’s voice is still quiet and calm when rejecting Miya Atsumu. His words are still chosen in a careful manner. The overall scene resonates the core of Atsumu’s soul. He takes the rejection in a gracious manner, but once Kita leaves him standing all alone, he breaks. Atsumu breaks in a way unthinkable, unseeable. Osamu has to pull him out of the water.

The pair of fox charms he had bought sit in their packaging untouched. The red one he attaches to his phone. The white and black one he leaves in a box to collect dust. Atsumu packs his leftover feelings into neat containers. He will open them in the future.

Is it normal to feel so hollow? 

Atsumu turns to the love he knows will never leave him. Yes, he breathes out, this is where he belongs. On the court, legs stretching for maximum height, all ten of his fingers grazing the ball. The resounding smack fills the empty space in him.

In retrospect, Kita was probably right. Atsumu pretends it doesn’t hurt.

_“Yer hunger fer volleyball consumes all, Atsumu. I think ya would devour me.”_

Atsumu still dreams of Kita Shinsuke.

//

Sakusa stares at himself in the mirror. His reflection merely looks back at him. Silly Omi, did you think it would start talking to you? He whips his eyes away and washes his hands. Sakusa does not think about the churning unease of his stomach.

There is nothing in there. The feeling will not leave. There is nothing in there, and he dry heaves over the sink with shaking shoulders as he grips the marble top for stability. There is something wrong with him.

He swishes mouthwash to get rid of the taste. He washes his hands and wipes down the sink. Sakusa leaves his bathroom and goes to the kitchen. He will attempt to eat.

But the knock on his door says otherwise. He opens it only to promptly close it. Atsumu makes a noise of protest and tries to stick his leg in the space between the door and its frame before it fully closes.

“What.”

“There’s a festival going on,” Atsumu says. Sakusa then notices the yukata. “Omi-kun, won’t ‘cha come with me?”

“No,” Sakusa answers a little too quickly.

“I’ll pay for anything ya wanna eat.”

“Fine,” Sakusa agrees.

“D’ya have a yukata? We could be matching.” Atsumu wriggles his eyebrows.

“Stop that and no.” Sakusa pretends not to notice the setter’s frown. He opens the door. “Would you rather wait inside or outside while I get my things?”

Atsumu steps in. “Inside, Omi-kun,” he says with a grin.

Sakusa closes the door. “Don’t touch anything.”

Atsumu is scrolling on his phone exactly where Sakusa left him. This pleases him. Sakusa finds relief that Atsumu cannot read his expression hidden under his mask. He lets Atsumu out first, zips up his jacket despite the warm weather, and locks the door behind him.

“Omi-Omi, ya look hot in that jacket,” Atsumu snarks.

“Thank you, Atsumu,” Sakusa returns dryly.

Atsumu even laughs like a fox. It’s ridiculous. Stupid. Sakusa feels like an idiot for the warmth that blooms in his chest knowing he caused that laughter.

“Sorry I dragged ya out. Know ya don’t like crowds much.”

“You offered free food,” Sakusa says simply.

A sigh. “Course ya come out for free stuff.”

“I prefer calling it ‘managing my finances,’ Miya.” Sakusa shoves his hands into his pockets and follows Atsumu who easily weaves through the busy crowd. Even in his perpetual slouch, he stands well over the rest of the general population, and the people part for the both of them.

Atsumu glances back with a displeased look. “Taking advantage of me? How scandalous, Sakusa.”

“If anyone is taking advantage of someone, that’d be you to me.”

There goes those sharp barks of laughter again. The stabbing pains in your chest are ignored, but Sakusa Kiyoomi, your feelings are growing, are they not? Who is the real fool here?

They stop in front of a stall. Sakusa waits off to the side while glancing over the crowd. The sun is starting to sink, painting the sky in soft hues of pink and orange. The edges of the sky bleed into pale purples and blues. Sakusa finds he does not mind having been dragged out for this.

“Omi-Omi?”

And Sakusa turns his attention back to Atsumu. He swallows. He should get the setter to buy him a drink. Because Atsumu stands there with the softest smile on his face, washed in the glow of the lanterns and the rays of the setting sun highlighting the outline of his figure. He is smiling at Sakusa, and there is nothing Sakusa can do about the churn in his gut. His chest is weighed down; his lungs are filling up.

Kiss him, kiss him, and it’ll feel like you’re breathing again.

“What’s that?” he says instead.

“A gift,” Atsumu answers.

He furrows his brows. “Why?”

“Why not?” Atsumu shrugs. “Ya don’t think I’m nice enough fer gifts?”

“No.” _I don’t think_ I’m _nice enough for gifts,_ but the comment goes unspoken and stays in the confines of Sakusa’s mind.

“This is all ‘Samu’s fault,” Atsumu says in a matter of fact manner.

“Your twin?”

“He’s the bigger asshole but not like anyone believes me. C’mon, take it,” Atsumu insists.

The gift is a paper fan, the design black with white foxes. He frowns behind the mask. Too many foxes in his life.

“And why this one?”

Atsumu is unnervingly silent before saying, “I just thought you should have it.”

He turns on the heels of his sandals and walks off. Sakusa slinks after him.

They are sitting on a bench far from the hordes of people. Sakusa nibbles at the matcha ice cream cone in his hand. Atsumu hasn’t quite devoured his but isn’t exactly not eating it either.

“Ya even enjoying that?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

“And what’s it to you?”

“Don’t want my money to have gone to waste, that’s all.”

“I am enjoying the ice cream you bought for me, Miya.”

Atsumu snickers. “Have you heard the rumors?” he asks.

“What rumors?”

“Hinata Shouyou might be trying out fer our team when he flies back to Japan.”

“Mr. I got sick and then benched?”

More laughter. Sakusa wants to plug his ears. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel like the result of a chemical combustion equation. Do not add oxygen from Miya Atsumu.

“Yeah, him. Been waiting ta set fer him y’know.”

Sakusa uncharacteristically swallows down the rest of his ice cream. His head is too cold, it hurts to think, but Sakusa finds concentrating on the pain preferable to having to hear Miya Atsumu speak of some other wing spiker so fondly.

Since when was Atsumu interested in Hinata Shouyou? Nevermind, Sakusa doesn’t want to know.

“I’m going home. Thanks for the free food.”

Atsumu is left clueless on the bench.

At home, Sakusa stares into the mirror, but this time it is not himself who stares back. Miya Atsumu greets him with that fox-like grin. The setter leans forward through the glass and settles with his lips at Sakusa’s ear.

Don’t be stupid now, Omi-kun. Didja really think I was flirting? Yer a goddamn freak.

Atsumu morphs into Ushijima Wakatoshi. Sakusa grips his sink even tighter.

I think you lack passion, Kiyoomi. I don’t think there is reason to continue.

Wakatoshi morphs into Kageyama Tobio.

You’re pretty average.

Kageyama Tobio morphs. It keeps morphing. The voices keep whispering in his ear. Sakusa closes his eyes and counts to ten. When he opens them, it is himself he stares at.

You’re a fool, Sakusa Kiyoomi.

He does not throw the fan away. He does not tuck it in a box to be left in a corner and collect dust. He leaves the fan on his nightstand.

You are a fool.

Sakusa shoves the nausea down. He does not sleep well.

//

Atsumu feels pathetic. He is unbelievable. He closes his eyes.

Come on now, we both know you didn’t get that for me.

He ignores Sakusa.

You can’t ignore me, Miya. You can’t ignore _this._

He opens his eyes. Sakusa’s face of neutral displeasure looks down on him. The spiker’s mouth opens but out comes Kita Shinsuke’s voice.

Yer not over me, Miya Atsumu. It’s quite rude ta gift other people things when yer not thinking of them but _me._

Atsumu reaches for his phone, yanks the fox charm off and chucks it into the wall. He goes looking through his boxes. The matching one he had bought for Kita Shinsuke is found in the dark recesses of a corner in a closet. It sits in its plastic packaging unopened. He drops it into the trash bin of his kitchen.

(what does Sakusa like again? pickled plums right? he should apologize).

//

Hinata Shouyou is a literal ray of sunshine.

Sakusa simply cannot hate him. Despite whatever fondness Atsumu has for the shorty, Sakusa’s jealousy is lost upon his first meeting. The redhead comes over to greet him during practice.

With a slight smirk, Sakusa asks him, “Mr. I got sick and then benched?” The same comment he had said to Miya Atsumu only so many months ago.

A tick of annoyance flashes across Hinata’s face, but he relaxes and confidently replies that he learns to take care of himself.

Sakusa contemplates Hinata’s words. He stops mid stretch when he spots Atsumu coming towards them. A test, he decides, for Hinata Shouyou.

“Do you want to see something interesting, Hinata-san?”

The man makes an inquisitive noise. Sakusa smiles in spite of himself.

“Oh my god, stop that, Omi-kun. Stop that. Yer gonna scare Shouyou-kun.”

Shouyou has a completely different reaction. “Sakusa-san, you can bend your wrists all the way back? That’s so COOL.”

Sakusa snickers and continues to show off the flexibility in his wrists. Atsumu stares in both fear and disgust.

“I’m leaving,” he says promptly.

“Not gonna toss for our new opposite hitter?” Sakusa asks.

“Toss for me, Atsumu-san, please!”

The setter lets out a sigh, but the fond look on his face tells otherwise. Sakusa stares at the ground.

You are nothing more than a teammate. How pitiful.

They do a bit of spiking practice. Sakusa is not entirely too surprised at Hinata Shouyou’s abilities. He has to agree, it feels like Shouyou is flying. It is like time slows when he hangs in the air letting him have until the last second to choose where to spike the ball. The form of his run up is quite beautiful too. Sakusa can see it, the lessons Hinata said he’s learned since his last game of Nationals freshman year. The placement of his feet, the tautness of his muscle when crouching, the timing of his receives.

He thinks he understands why Atsumu looks at Hinata with stars in his eyes. The love Hinata holds for volleyball, the passion and dedication is truly something to behold. Perhaps, Sakusa is a little bit infatuated too.

“Shouyou-kun, y’know, just because ya’ve gotten good doesn’t mean I’ll toss to ya.”

Hinata matches Atsumu’s feral grin with his own. “Worry about yourself, Atsumu-senpai. I can hit just fine, but don’t even think about sending me any half-assed toss.”

Sakusa breaks out into laughter. He doesn’t even see Hinata and Atsumu stare at him in wonder.

“I think I like you Hinata Shouyou. Anyone who can put Miya’s ego down has a page in my book.”

“Who even fuckin’ talks like that? A page in my book?” Atsumu is definitely affronted.

“You’re just mad Shouyou-kun called you out,” Sakusa returns with a sneer. “Come now, Atsumu, give me a toss. Better not be a half-assed one.”

The setter clicks his tongue, but he sets the ball in the air anyway. Sakusa is already in the air to smack the ball across the court. He purposely spikes it with a spin from his wrists. When he touches down with the soles of his shoes to the ground, Hinata freaks out.

“Sakusa-san! That was so COOL! The way you just BAM! and the ball went WOOSH!”

“What are you even saying?” Sakusa snarks.

“I wanna try doing that,” Hinata continues excitedly, eyes practically sparkling with excitement. Like a puppy, Sakusa notes.

“Maybe if you could bend your wrists like this,” Sakusa responds and does the motion within Atsumu’s view.

“Yer gross Omi-kun. I’m not tossing anymore fer ya.”

Sakusa smiles inwardly.

//

Atsumu is drawn towards Shouyou the way the south end of a magnet is attracted towards the north end of another. (that’s a stupid comparison ‘Samu. does it look like I care? unfortunately, no). If anything, a more apt metaphor would be Atsumu is a moth, and Shouyou is the light. He sees the redhead and immediately cannot help but smile.

Why?

He’s fun. A delight. His smile is beautiful. He’s always up for anything. He hits your tosses most wonderfully. You like watching him at practice. He takes care in his stretches, takes care in the way he plays, takes care in cleaning up. He is also a sight for sore eyes you admit. Expansive tan skin (tanlines you notice in the locker room). The curve of biceps, the tone of thighs and calves.

You feel a visceral punch to your gut every time he smiles at you. Get fucked, Miya Atsumu.

“Wanna have dinner together, Atsumu-san?”

Yes.

“I wanna see this movie with you.”

Yes.

“Damn, I need new shoes. You wanna come with me?”

Yes.

Yes, yes, yes to anything Hinata Shouyou asks of him. Because Hinata Shouyou makes Atsumu feel less like a shitty bastard. Because Hinata Shouyou is warm and comforting and makes Atsumu feel at ease.

He does not feel like he has to be perfect around Shouyou. He can just _be._

(aren’t you forgetting something, Atsumu? asks Kita Shinsuke in the back of his mind).

He keeps every moment he spends with Shouyou deep within the well of his heart. It’s like ya haven’t learned ‘Sumu. Shut up ‘Samu. He will stand in the shower, eyes closed, steaming hot water running down his body. You haven’t learned at all. His eyes are red after stepping out of the water. Stupid, stupid, Atsumu. This is highschool all over again.

Tobio-kun. Can ya not pick a fight with _my_ wing spiker, hmm?

What a dumbass. Jealousy is a disease, and Atsumu is going to die. Let’s just get this match over with.

Atsumu can only smirk when he shakes Tobio’s hands post-match. 1-Miya. 0-Kageyama.

He is having fun at the MSBY Black Jackals’ winning team dinner. Atsumu is definitely having fun. He is slightly buzzed off his ass, and he is having fun. So much fun.

“Is there a reason you keep staring at me, Atsumu-san?”

“No reason, Shouyou-kun. Just think yer cute.”

“It’s ‘cause Tsum-Tsum’s got a crush on you, Shouyou,” Bokuto pipes up.

“Bokkun!” Atsumu points a finger. “He wasn’t suppose ta know!”

“Sorry, sorry,” the wing spiker slurs out.

His life is fucking over.

“Get a room you two,” Meian laughs. “Akaashi, you should probably take him home.”

The voices fade out into background noise. Atsumu is only slightly buzzed, he swears, as he looks at Shouyou in the dim lighting. He can’t tell what the younger man is thinking at all. Shouyou-kun looks pretty, he thinks. Does he think I’m pretty? Why does he look so sad?

“Let’s go outside, Atsumu-san,” is all Hinata says.

Atsumu drags himself out of his seat to follow him.

His breath hangs in the air. “Are ya cold?” he asks, noticing Hinata’s shivering.

“No.” So Atsumu does not offer his jacket.

“I can’t return your feelings, Atsumu-san.”

Atsumu clenches his fists in his pockets even tighter. The pain of his nails digging into his palms hurts less than the sinking of his heart.

“I know Shouyou. I know.”

When he goes home that night, kicking off his shoes and stepping into his slippers, his phone (noticeably lacking a charm) vibrates with a notification. Atsumu has a feeling about what it is, but he can’t help but check anyway. He stands still in the middle of his apartment. His fingers are shaking, just ever so slightly but definitely shaking. If he takes a step, he will fall. Atsumu blinks. His screen turns blurry.

Yes, I know, Shouyou-kun. Ya can’t return my feelings because ya love Tobio-kun, don’t ‘cha.

(@MSBY_HINATA “bf is mad i beat him today. luv u tobio<3 [image of a pouting Kageyama])

Autopilot is a great function. (double win for u shouyou? he quotes Hinata’s tweet). He ignores the texts from his brother. He steps into the shower and turns the temperature to scalding hot. The water bill is going to be high this month; Atsumu thinks that’s okay if it means he gets to soak. He’s already showered post-game, but he can’t think of any other way to cope. He dries up and brushes his teeth. He washes his face and pats his serums into his skin. Atsumu tucks himself into bed only to stay awake staring at the ceiling.

If he closes his eyes, he can see himself with Hinata Shouyou.

You are in the kitchen cooking something for him because you love him. You make his favorite dish because seeing his joy makes you happy. He tells you it’s delicious, and you smile and kiss him on the forehead. He laughs. You are so, so content just being in his presence.

You wake up bleary eyed. He is still sleeping next to you. He looks like an angel in the soft morning light. He sleepily murmurs good morning Atsumu. You laugh; he is everything to you. What do you want to do today? Whatever ya want. Wanna stay in bed with you. Okay, and the both of you laugh.

It is insane. You have never thought about being domestic with someone, but you can see yourself spending the rest of your life with him. The idea of spending every day waking up to the same person has never sounded so appealing. You have never felt so whole, so comfortable, so in love with someone. At least, you think you could love him. The intensity of the word terrifies you, but you think you could say it if it was him.

Kita Shinsuke will always be just a crush. Definitely a passionate crush, but nothing more. (it is hard to let go of your senpai).

Hinata Shouyou who starts off as an infatuation and turns into a crush and turns into deep seated feelings. You love him. He doesn’t. Sickening, isn’t it?

//

You are twenty two years old. You’ve had one boyfriend. It was good until it wasn’t. Now you think about him, and your insides twist. He does not hold your hand, he holds someone else’s. Jealousy is such an ugly, disgusting emotion. Nothing you do will cleanse your body of it.

You work so hard to keep yourself clean, but I bet if someone were to peel your skin back, there’d be nothing but rotten flesh.

Shut up, Sakusa tells himself in the mirror.

It’s true, and you know it.

Shut up.

So, Mirror-Sakusa says with a smirk, Miya Atsumu. Do you still have those ugly feelings?

Today is a bad day for Sakusa Kiyoomi. Bad days are when he wakes up and dry heaves over the toilet. Bad days are when he cleans every inch of his apartment but the unsettling feeling will not leave. Bad days are when he sees things in the mirror and it talks back to him.

I wonder, Kiyoomi. If I were to tear into your chest cavity, what would I find?

Atsumu trails a finger down Sakusa’s body. The spiker feels strangely small, small like he is a mouse about to be eaten. Atsumu grins at him, something inhuman and frightening.

I think you would find a miserable, pathetic garden of flowers. Branches growing in every direction, petals filling the space between each rib. I can no longer breathe.

Silence. No answer. Sakusa lets out a sigh of relief.

Nevermind, this is not a relief. Sakusa knew he and Atsumu lived close to one another, but he had not expected to see him at the same convenience store at close to two in the morning.

“Omi-kun,” Atsumu greets him. “Nice ta see ya.”

Sakusa ignores him. Ignores the saccharine in his voice. Ignores the obvious red rimmed eyes. He goes straight for the onigiri in the refrigerated section.

“Aw come on. I thought we were friends. I even got ya a gift,” Atsumu complains.

“We are nothing more than coworkers, Miya,” Sakusa replies as he picks out the onigiri with pickled plums.

“That hurts. Hey! If ya wanted umeboshi onigiri, ya should’ve asked me.”

“And why?”

“Because my twin runs an onigiri shop?” Atsumu laughs. “Why would ya want shitty onigiri from a conbini when ya can get the good stuff?”

“It’s fucking two in the morning.”

“So?” Atsumu shrugs. “Just ask next time.”

And somehow it turns out like this: Sakusa and Atsumu sit on opposite ends of a bench, eating the stuff they bought. The sky is pitch black, inky nothingness of late night conversations.

“You don’t look like you’re doing okay.”

“I thought we weren’t friends.”

“I need you in your best condition to win.”

“Hah. Very funny.” Atsumu sounds bitter. He goes quiet. “It hurts, ya know.”

Sakusa does not know how to respond. He has never been one to comfort people. That was usually Komori’s role.

“It’s like… I thought I could love him if ya get what I mean. I can see myself with him, no one else. Seeing him with someone that’s not me hurts like a fucking bitch.”

“I know,” Sakusa tells him.

“You know?”

He does not elaborate. Instead, he gets up from the bench, trash neatly packed in the bag from the convenience store.

“Goodnight, Atsumu-san.” He bends his wrists back. “We’re friends.”

“OMI-KUN, WE’RE NOT FRIENDS IF YA KEEP DOING THAT.”

“Shut up, you’re disturbing people.”

Atsumu huffs. “My point still stands. Stop doing that shit.”

“No, I don’t think I will,” Sakusa says with a smile.

“Oh my god. Don’t leave, ya lil shit. You’re smiling under that goddamn mask of yours aren’t ‘cha. Omi-Omi.”

“Sakusa Kiyoomi.”

Sakusa laughs all the way back home.

//

Practice is fine. Nothing has changed. Atsumu sets the ball the same as before. He cannot afford to be caught up in his feelings. Remember, he tells himself, what it feels like to win. It is the cumulation of skidding across the floor for a dig, the burning sensation in his muscles as he runs to the ball, the gentle touch of his ten fingertips to the ball. He tosses the ball the same as before. Bokuto spikes the same, Sakusa spikes the same, Shouyou spikes the same.

Is it burdensome? Atsumu wonders when he sends the ball to Hinata. Does knowing I love you feel like a burden?

“Nice toss, Atsumu-san.” Hinata smiles at him, but Atsumu still isn’t sure. Their friendship is fine, it’s fine, it’s fine, but is it really?

“Nice spike, Shouyou-kun.” Atsumu doesn’t think it’s fine at all.

He never wanted Hinata to find out. He never wanted Hinata to feel the weight of his feelings. This heavy, crushing love that sits on his shoulders like Atlas underneath the sky. He stops spending time with him, stops the random conversations they have over text, stops (tries to) thinking about him. Atsumu thinks that by forcing distance between him and Hinata, he can get over it. But even with this stilted version of their friendship, on some nights, Atsumu will think about Shouyou before falling asleep. On some days, he will find himself wishing he could hold Shouyou’s hand. He will tear up at the sight of those two together. It takes him everything to not cry.

Atsumu seriously needs to stop associating people to cutesy items. He cannot bear to look the fox plushie in the eyes when knowing he wants to stuff it in a box and lock it in a closet. The fox stares and stares, and the guilt eats at him. His twin tells him he is being an idiot. Maybe, but Atsumu is more weak hearted than most people think. He holds the stuffed animal close to his chest. The memory attached to it is fun and lighthearted, and he thinks he’s okay with that. He had fun playing crane games with Shouyou. That’s all there is to it.

He’s really, really got to stop falling for people who touch him deep within his soul, and he’s really, really got to stop forming attachments to things that remind him of said people.

(the fox plushie is too soft and too cute to throw out. it’d be a waste).

Bothering Sakusa Kiyoomi is infinitely more fun than moping around. It is absolutely hilarious to see how fast he can get on Sakusa’s nerves. Atsumu lives to grate on people’s patience, Sakusa is not an exception. The way he clicks his tongue whenever Atsumu says something stupid. The way he responds in the flattest tone possible. It is so fun.

_“Why do ya like umeboshi so much?”_

_“It’s sour.”_

_“Really, why, though.”_

_“It reminds me of my grandmother.”_

He spends a lot of time around the wing spiker and learns a lot about him. Atsumu watches Sakusa quietly. He finds the man fascinating. He doesn’t understand Sakusa’s obsession with cleanliness or rather his fear of germs, his mysophobia; rather, he thinks there is something to be respected in Sakusa’s dedication to the details. Sakusa carefully washes his hands for at least twenty seconds (not that he's counted) and then dries them with a handkerchief. Sakusa wears a mask and gloves out everywhere he goes. Sakusa gets into the bath before everyone else. Sure, it’s a little weird, extreme even, but Atsumu is in no place to judge.

_“Ya know, I made those.”_

_“Hey. Hey! Don’t spit those out, I washed my hands alright.”_

_“‘Samu won’t let me in his kitchen if I don’t wash my hands. Eat the fuckin’ onigiri, Sakusa.”_

He is objectively pretty. Okay, fine, he is pretty. He just is. Atsumu is seriously annoyed about it. It’s not fair. He, too, wants to look effortlessly beautiful the way Sakusa does. It bothers Atsumu that Sakusa slouches and still looks intimidatingly tall. His lashes are long, his nose straight, eyebrows full, lips always plump and glossy. Even on the days he looks tired, his skin will still be clear and milky like a porcelain doll. He is unreal.

_“What’s yer secret?”_

_“I cry a lot.”_

_“Omi-kun, the fuck?”_

Quiet contemplation isn’t a word he associates with himself, but Atsumu has been getting a lot more of it since he’s started spending time around Sakusa. He is the one to fill the air with conversation of course, but he doesn’t feel particularly uncomfortable when Sakusa falls silent. It gives him time to mull and consider Sakusa as a person. There is a certain fluidity to his motions like when he stretches, limbs long and graceful. The way he snaps apart his chopsticks at a restaurant. The decisiveness when he flicks his wrist to put a spin on the ball. The easy pull on his shirt as he changes. The care in obviously repetitive actions of packing his things up.

Sakusa Kiyoomi never does anything half-assed. Atsumu appreciates that. He doesn’t like people who start something and don’t finish or who start something and don’t even try. He is a little bit like Kita in that sense, but he also is not like Kita. Atsumu has never seen Sakusa notably interested in what he does at all, but he still thoroughly finishes the task. Atsumu respects that. Kita, on the other hand, seems to enjoy going through the process without regard for the result. Sakusa goes through the process for the sake of going through it.

He finds Sakusa Kiyoomi so very interesting.

_“Yer still going at it, Sakusa?”_

_“I should finish.”_

_“Don’t pull anything.”_

//

“Sa-ku-sa Ki-yoo-mi,” Atsumu says, dragging out the syllables in his name.

He shivers. “You’re drunk.”

“Yer pretty.”

“I’m going home.”

“Aw, Kiyoomi. Stay? Please?”

“Captain, could you… ?”

Meian laughs and waves his hand. “I’ll take care of him. Go home Sakusa. It was nice of you to join us tonight.”

Sakusa leaves the bar flushed from embarrassment. Not the alcohol. His ears are ringing, everything else surrounding him sounding vaguely muffled. He can feel the thudding of his heart in his ribcage, vines twisting around the bones, flowers opening to full bloom. Thorns poke at his muscle, branches filling the empty space of his throat and lungs. The garden of his love will not stop growing. He cannot stop it from growing. It will grow and grow until he is consumed, and then what?

Kiyoomi, he hears Atsumu drag out. Kiyoomi.

_“I think yer fun to be around.”_

_“No one says that.”_

_“Well now I do.”_

Who is Miya Atsumu to make Sakusa Kiyoomi feel like he is worth something?

Like he is not a freak for obsessing over fucking microorganisms. Like he is not a prickly, standoffish bastard. Like he is genuinely an interesting person to be around. Like he is worth being loved despite every flaw he sees in the mirror.

You go home. You wash up. You wash up again. You wash until the skin of your hands feels raw, and it burns. Surprisingly, you do not feel the urge to vomit. Your stomach is fine. Instead, you want to rip a hole into your chest and pluck your beating heart out. You cannot bear the weight of your feelings. It would be better to let them go.

Ushijima Wakatoshi stares back at him.

Do you really think he, of all people, could love you?

Miya Atsumu smirks at Sakusa and kisses him through the glass.

_Kiyoomi._

//

“—love him?”

Atsumu stops mid step because that is Sakusa’s voice.

“I don’t know.”

And that’s Ushijima Wakatoshi. Okay, he’ll bite. The hell is happening here?

“And you, do you love him the way you did with me?”

Hold on. Hold on.

“We were in highschool.”

“Why are you even here? What about Oikawa Tooru. Tendou Satori.”

Atsumu is starting to get the feeling he shouldn’t be here. (but he is a bastard who lives for drama).

“Kiyoomi, please.”

Oh. Oh shit.

“Wakatoshi-kun, this is long over.”

First name basis? Okay. And what does Sakusa mean, _this_ is long over? Why does he sound so hurt? Why can Atsumu hear the defeat, the resignment in his voice? Why does Atsumu feel so much pain at Sakusa’s distress?

Since when could you learn to differentiate his feelings? You involuntarily place a hand over your chest, right where the heart is. Your palm, flat against your body, can feel the erratic pattern of your heartbeats. Your fingers curl into a fist. Since you began to break your walls down around him.

Now or never, Miya. (oh man, this was just supposed to be a quick trip to the vending machine and then back to the locker room, oh man).

“Ya picking a fight with my wing spiker, Toshi-kun, hmm?” Atsumu doesn’t sling an arm over Sakusa’s shoulders. He just stands uncomfortably close between the two of them.

“Miya-san,” Ushijima says. “I am not.”

“We’re fine, Atsumu.”

“Is he botherin’ ya? I can make him leave if ya want.” Atsumu tilts his gaze to the other man. His lips stretch back and bares his teeth. “I think you should leave, Toshi-kun.”

“... I will be taking my leave.”

Silence stretches between Sakusa and Atsumu after Ushijima leaves. Atsumu doesn’t know what to say. He has his own feelings to ponder. New revelations.

“Don’t involve yourself in my business again, Miya,” Sakusa snaps, at long last, and he slinks off, somehow slouching even more than usual.

Atsumu bites the inside of his cheek. He feels warm, overly warm, body heating up with embarrassment. He watches Sakusa’s back recede into the distance, disappearing around the corner. The tight feeling in his chest gets only tighter and tighter. He is angry, upset, a little melancholic. Definitely annoyed with himself.

Who is he to beg to be worthy of Sakusa Kiyoomi’s attention?

(you are not Ushijima Wakatoshi).

You are Miya Atsumu. You do not beg.

//

Komori tells him he should apologize. He knows he should. Atsumu was just helping. Sakusa wonders how much Atsumu heard. The skin of his hands feel chafed, but he cannot stop running them under hot water. The ugly burst of emotions is a lump in his throat, and no matter how far he sticks his fingers down, Sakusa cannot cough it out. The awful feeling will not leave him even as he goes through his routine over and over.

You are sixteen years old in your second year of highschool. You have washed your hands, he has washed his hands, you are holding his hand. You like him, you admit to your cousin. You like him because he is clean unlike the rest of these filthy heathens, because he plays an immaculate version of volleyball, because he makes you feel a calm that you do not feel with anyone else. You like him, and you’re pretty sure he likes you back because why else would he be holding your hand? He speaks about a setter from his prefecture with praise and admiration. He looks at his middle blocker with fondness. You are no longer sure. The nausea starts. You have more bad days than good days. Often you wake up, and it is a really fucking bad day.

Sakusa presses on Atsumu’s contact.

“What do ya want?”

Sakusa flinches at the bite in Atsumu’s words. “Are you home?”

“Yea. Why.”

“I’m trying to apologize for my behavior.”

“Yer fine, Sakusa.”

“You don’t sound fine,” he notes.

“Yer not usually so nosy.” He sounds upset. Why does that upset Sakusa?

Your words hurt, Sakusa. Your words are harsh, and you inflict them on people like they are the blades of knives.

“I thought we were friends.”

He hears Atsumu grumbling over the phone. “Ya wanna pull that shit now? Fine, whatever. I’ll forgive you if ya come over and help make dinner.”

“Okay. I can do that. Just text me your address.”

He’s at the apartment complex within fifteen minutes. The door opens, and Sakusa is greeted by one, very tired, very disgruntled Miya Atsumu. It’s a pretty standard apartment with simple furnishing. Cleaner than he had expected. He sets his backpack down on the couch at Atsumu’s guidance.

“You can wash yer hands at the sink and then wash the vegetables. Drain the water and cut ‘em into chunks. I’ll be dicing the meat if ya need anything. Yer good with beef right?”

Sakusa nods in confirmation and makes his way over to the sink. Atsumu’s kitchen is kept simple and clean. He doesn’t seem the type to use it often, but even so, he’d still need to upkeep it often for it to be clean. Sakusa appreciates the fact. He washes his hands with the lemon scented hand soap and peeks at Atsumu from the corner of his eye. His typically annoyingly beautiful face is on the haggard side. It’s a bit unsettling how unlike Atsumu is from his usual self. Sakusa’s gaze drifts down towards Atsumu’s hands. The setter takes care in dicing the chunk of meat. Sakusa turns back to his own task.

They work in silence. Not necessarily uncomfortable silence, although Sakusa is definitely feeling awkward. He puts his focus into deftly slicing the vegetables. The knife is sharp, also well kept.

“Shit,” he hears Atsumu hiss out. Sakusa whips his head. The blond’s finger is bleeding from a long, thin cut.

“You’re bleeding,” Sakusa deadpans.

Atsumu gives him a withering look. “Think yer so funny don’t ‘cha, Omi-kun,” he says with the most condescending sneer imaginable.

“Come on, I’ll wash it for you. It stings, doesn’t it?”

Atsumu complies and walks over to the sink despite his resentful words. Sakusa runs the water warm, and Atsumu sticks his hand under the stream to wash off the dripping blood. Sakusa puts soap into Atsumu’s outstretched palms. He takes the setter’s hands into his own and gently lathers. 

Sakusa cannot look at Atsumu. Instead, he takes his time in cleaning the cut and by extension, the rest of Atsumu’s hands. His fingers are long, pretty enough to be on a magazine. The skin of his palms are soft as if he is careful to use lotion every night. His fingernails are cut short and filed away. Sakusa quietly files away the feeling of his setter’s hands, the outline of the shape, the stillness in which he lets Sakusa do his thing.

The tenderness of it all stabs him multiple times in his heart.

“Do you have a first aid kit?” is what Sakusa asks while rinsing off the soap.

“In the leftmost cupboard,” comes Atsumu’s answer.

He turns the faucet off and dries Atsumu’s hands with a clean towel. Opening the mentioned cupboard door, he finds the kit on the bottom shelf. He takes out the ointment and a bandaid. Sakusa still refuses to meet Atsumu’s eyes. After covering the cut in a thin layer of ointment, Sakusa wraps the bandage around Atsumu’s finger.

“Do you want me to finish cooking up?”

“It’s just a cut, Sakusa. I’ll be fine.”

He finally lets himself look at Atsumu’s face. Unfortunately, Atsumu is inscrutable, and Sakusa cannot read him.

The spiker leaves Atsumu’s apartment with a fulfilled appetite and an inkling of loneliness. In the chill of the night, Sakusa finds himself understanding the truth behind his desires. He walks back home with bitterness on his tongue, sweetness lingering at the back of this throat.

These deep seated feelings of his, having taken root in the darkest depths of his soul, are pushing against the walls of his chest. Sakusa remembers his first meeting with Atsumu, the match featuring Itachiyama vs. Inarizaki. He hates the boy on sight because why does the asshole get to be good at volleyball? It puts him in a turmoil, inner rage seething every time Atsumu opens his mouth or smirks at him.

Atsumu is the very opposite to Wakatoshi, who leaves Sakusa in a wake of calm and grace. But Sakusa learns, Wakatoshi is principled in a way Sakusa cannot bear to be with. His lack of tact leaves Sakusa confused and hurt and closed off even more than before. Sakusa watches Atsumu from afar as he is the only person to ever leave him unsure from first impressions. He cannot deny the beauty in Atsumu’s play. A boy who believes in himself more than anyone else to the point of his arrogance reaching the height of the heavens. There are many metaphors Sakusa could use, but he has never been one to wax poetry about people.

Something shifts when he joins the team and gets to know Atsumu. He gets to look on a daily basis, gets to hear him talk with that Kansai dialect, gets to hang out with after games, and Komori has to be the one to tell him he’s got a bit of a crush on the setter. He tells his cousin to fuck off and only gets a laugh in response.

But Sakusa learns tonight with the simple act of washing Atsumu’s hands, cooking dinner and then eating with him, he craves the sort of domesticity and intimacy Atsumu had mentioned before. He doesn’t know if this is love, if he can call the dense thicket of flowers he grows in the cavity of his body love. All Sakusa knows is that he can see himself spending the rest of his life with Miya Atsumu.

If it’s you, I think I could learn the meaning of love.

//

He gets the odd sense of deja vu, but can he really call it that when he’s literally already experienced this situation?

“Toshi-kun,” Atsumu greets pleasantly. “I thought I told ya to stop botherin’ my spikers.”

“What do you see in him, Kiyoomi?”

Well that irks. Straight up gonna ignore him huh?

“Don’t ignore me now.” Atsumu’s voice is no longer pleasant.

“I do not think I am bothering your spiker, Miya-san.”

“You _are_ bothering me,” Sakusa snaps. “Stop asking me the same shit Wakatoshi. And don’t forget, I’ll crush you in the next match.”

Atsumu smirks to himself.

“Okay,” the man answers. “Good luck.”

Sakusa clicks his tongue. “Not wasting my time here. Are you coming, Miya?”

Atsumu smiles wider and sticks his tongue out as he passes by Ushijima. Childish of him, but he lives to grate on people’s nerves. He falls into step beside Sakusa as they leave the man behind in the hallway.

“Dinner, Atsumu?”

“I want chutoro,” he sing songs.

“I’m not buying you that,” Sakusa rejects his wish.

“I have umeboshi onigiri. Fresh.”

“Fuck you.”

Atsumu laughs.

They stop by the grocery store, and Sakusa buys Atsumu a sizable chunk of tuna. Atsumu buys a couple other snacks in spite of the spiker’s dirty looks. (look away Omi-kun, you’re not eating these, I am). The walk back to Sakusa’s apartment is quiet and relaxing. Atsumu enjoys the simplicity of being next to Sakusa.

Is this what having a boyfriend is like? Going to the store, eating dinner together. Atsumu wishes it were real, except he knows better than to expect more. He settles for watching Sakusa savor his onigiri.

“Give me a piece,” Sakusa says in reference to the fatty tuna.

“No, I don’t think I will.”

“Okay, I won’t buy you it ever again then.”

“Omi-kun,” Atsumu whines. “That’s mean.”

“Give it up, Miya.”

“Fine,” Atsumu relents and pushes his plate towards Sakusa. “Do ya want me to wash the dishes after?”

“I’ll be fine.”

So Atsumu ends up watching Sakusa wash the dishes as he sits at the counter. He watches Sakusa turn the water on to hot, watches him soap up the plates and chopsticks, watches him rinse off the bubbles, watches him as he carefully places the dishes onto the drying rack. His motions are smooth and fluid and obviously practiced with ease. Atsumu doesn’t know what to make of the fact that he finds dishwashing hot. (his twin would tell him he’s a weirdo).

They put a movie on. Some shitty rom-com because Atsumu is too pussy for horror. Okay it’s not entirely shitty. The 2000s and early 2010s romantic comedies starring Jennifer Aniston and fuckin Adam Sandler are great, thank you very much.

“Do ya think love like that is real?” Atsumu asks.

Sakusa snorts, but Atsumu sees the pensive look in his eyes. “I think love would be a miracle.”

Atsumu doesn’t know how to answer. “Getting late. Probably time for me ta leave. See ya ‘round, Omi-kun.”

I wanna kiss him.

Do ya think he wants to kiss you?

Go away, Kita.

That’s no way to talk to yer captain.

I think I wanna spend my life with him.

Ya said that about Shouyou-kun too didn’t ya?

Atsumu covers his face with a pillow. Kita Shinsuke dissipates into the air. He dreams about living together with Sakusa. There’s a ring on his left hand.

(he wakes up crying).

//

“Why are you here?”

“Because I wanna take care of ya.”

“You shouldn’t. It’s not worth it. It’s never been worth it. It’s rotten work.”

“Not ta me, it isn’t. Not when it’s you.”

“Don’t lie to me, Atsumu.”

“Kiyoomi, Kiyoomi. How could I ever lie ta ya? Hey, hey, please don’t cry.”

“Shut up.”

“I think I love ya, okay? Don’t forget it.”

“I think I’m falling in love with you.”

//

You are twenty four years old sitting in the bathtub while leaning against your lover. If you think about it too much for too long, you’ll cry.

“Close your eyes,” Sakusa says in a low tone.

Atsumu closes his eyes. He hears Kiyoomi open the shampoo bottle and squirt some out. He feels the trickle of water on the top of his head. Kiyoomi begins to massage his fingers into Atsumu’s scalp. He makes a noise of contentment.

“I can feel yer dick, Omi.”

“Do you want soap in your eyes?”

“Please, continue.”

Atsumu tips his head back. He opens his eyes and comes face to face with Sakusa. He’s pretty.

“Yer pretty.”

“You tell me all the time.”

“Cause ya are, sweetheart.”

Sakusa lips curl up into a smile. “You think you’re so charming, huh, Miya.”

“For you.”

He presses a kiss onto Atsumu’s forehead. “Alright, alright. Head up so I can rinse out the soap.”

Atsumu complies. The water is warm, and Sakusa takes care in not letting soapy water run into his eyes. Atsumu is definitely on the verge of tears.

“Ya wanna get married? I think I do.”

Sakusa stops. “You want to marry me? Me.”

“Yes, Kiyoomi. I wanna spend the rest of my life with you.”

“Okay. I’ll marry you Atsumu.”

You are twenty four years old sitting in the bathtub while leaning against your lover. You’re gonna marry him. Isn’t that beautiful?

**Author's Note:**

> pls leave a kudos and/or comment if you enjoyed i would greatly appreciate it
> 
> if there's anything else i should have tagged lemme know thanks
> 
> um. my twt is @rinniebear666 feel free to hmu there cause i Love talking about hq
> 
> edit: forgot to mention, anyone realize i wrote this with 0 kissing? like. who am i.


End file.
